


get them to sign on the line which is dotted

by airspaniel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-16
Updated: 2010-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-12 17:36:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/127310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bela Talbot plays Let's Make a Deal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	get them to sign on the line which is dotted

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [](http://ozmissage.livejournal.com/profile)[**ozmissage**](http://ozmissage.livejournal.com/) for the [Sweet Drabblethon](http://demonqueen666.livejournal.com/394196.html), except apparently my brain just doesn't understand _what a drabble is_.  >.< Also, I have no idea if this even remotely suits the prompt anymore, nor do I know if it's at all what [](http://ozmissage.livejournal.com/profile)[**ozmissage**](http://ozmissage.livejournal.com/) was looking for, but I hope it pleases anyway. ^_^
> 
> I borrowed a line from _Good Omens_ ; cookies if you catch it. The title is from _Glengarry Glen Ross_. Comments/crit always welcome!

"I'm sorry, love," the demon shrugged, the fine tailoring of his black suit shifting easily with the motion. Like an oil slick. "My hands are tied. Nothing for it, I'm afraid."

" _You're_ afraid?" Bela spat, all too aware of the way her voice was cracking; the way that tears were pricking like needles against the backs of her eyes. "You're not the one..." She cut herself off, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing how frightened she truly was.

He didn't look satisfied, though, his mouth drawn into a tight line. He looked like he was thinking. Looked, Bela thought, like he might be willing to make a deal.

It was, after all, what he did.

"I brought you the Colt," she said, a touch more calmly. "What else would it take?"

"I told you, it's not up to me," he replied, businesslike veneer in place once again. But there was something sparkling in his eyes; something beyond the hellfire.

Bela recognized an opening when she saw it. "But...?"

The demon laughed, ran thoughtful fingertips over his eyebrow. "This isn't a promise, mind. But I know my boss has a couple of problems you might be able to... help her expunge."

Bela smiled, all sharp edges and charm. She'd won the game; the rest was just semantics. "And would these problems happen to be named Sam and Dean Winchester?"

He laughed again, louder this time and more sudden. Surprised. "Such a clever girl! You are _wasted_ here," he said, delighted. And then lower, more soliciting: "The things I could do with you..."

Her heels clacked against the pavement and she closed the distance between them, pressing her advantage. "Is it a deal?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Is it," Bela whispered, so close now; close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, his body. "A deal?"

The demon did not back away, did not react except to brush a stray lock of her hair from her face, fingers caressing her cheek. Bela gasped at the inhuman heat of his skin, and his lips curled up just at the corners, altogether too smug to be a smile. "I'll see," he repeated, letting his hand linger on the curve of her neck, and Bela shivered despite herself. "What I can do."

*****

Stupid _fucking_ Winchesters.

Stupid fucking _Winchesters_.

With her last breaths, Bela _cursed_ that name. An unearthly howl rent the still night air, and the beast advanced, claws scraping against the floor. She was going to die here, die bloody; ripped limb from limb because she couldn't…

No. No, it wasn't her fault. If Dean hadn't... if they hadn't... _Christ_ , she didn't want to die.

The hellhound growled, a deep and ominous rumble that Bela felt in her bones like an earthquake; like thunder when the storm is upon you. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere left to go. Her back was literally against the wall.

The hound lifted one massive paw, brought it down on the top of her thigh, shifted forward; and Bela cried out in pain, crushed under the weight, claws like knives threatening to tear through her jeans. Its breath was rank on her face. She clenched her eyes shut, turned her head and felt the wet of its jowls against her neck, the terrible sharp smoothness of teeth; and she wished it would just _attack_ already. Just _get it over with_.

"He's an old soppy, really," a familiar voice chuckled. "Just poke him if he's a nuisance."

Bela blinked frantically, trying to clear her vision. She didn't dare to lift a hand to wipe her eyes. "What..." she managed, more a breath than a word, and her answer was a harsh whistle, painfully high-pitched. Obediently, the hound retreated, padding away to sit beside the demon who called it. Flash bastard in his black suit, blood red shirt, black silk tie looking like he's never been wrinkled; never been anything less than perfectly pressed, never had a hair out of place his whole fucking life.

She choked on a sound that couldn't decide if it was a laugh or a sob. Bela didn't know herself, but couldn't really stop once she started, hysterical with relief. "Oh, _god_ …"

"Crowley," he corrected, "no need to stand on formalities, love." He scratched the hellhound behind the ears like… like a beloved _pet_ , and Bela was laughing now. She was sure of it.

"Am I," she gasped, "ever glad," between sobs, "to see _you_."

Crowley smirked. "I don't hear that too often." He crossed over to her, hellhound at his heels; held out a hand to help her up. She let herself be pulled, swiping her other hand over her face; trying to appear composed, at least.

"You saved my life," she said quietly, an edge of suspicion in the words, looking for the angle. Crowley clicked his tongue, sucked in a breath through his teeth, head tilted to the side.

"Yeah, no, not exactly." He ran his thumb across the back of her hand, considering. Maybe it was the recent and dire peril talking, the heady rush of adrenaline, but the movement felt electric; like fire. "I have a proposition for you."

"A proposition?"

Crowley smiled. "A job offer, more like."

"A job…" she started to repeat, then caught herself. Wouldn't get anywhere acting like a bloody parrot. "What kind of job?"

"Oh, it's right up your street, I assure you." His smile grew somehow more indulgent, more amused. "Call it acquisitions."

She could guess just what it was she would be acquiring.

Bela thought about it. "Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice, pet," Crowley replied, and it should have been grating, should have been condescending, what with the way he was still stroking her hand; but she didn't pull away. "Either you accept my offer, die painlessly, and keep that lovely meat suit you're wearing; or you don't, and my dear friend here will feast on your entrails whilst you scream in torment unending."

Put that way, it seemed reasonable. But Bela couldn't help pushing. "Either way, my soul is forfeit."

Crowley laughed and slipped his arm around her waist, easy and charming. "Your soul's been forfeit for _years_. Ten of them, in fact. Don't act like you miss it now."

She bristled at that, but he had a point. As if he sensed this, her capitulation, and wished to drive it home, he leaned closer to speak low, softly, into her ear. "Don't worry, love. It's in good hands."

"Yours, I presume," she said, seductive and smiling despite it all, because here at last was a game she knew how to play. Part of her wondered if Crowley had done it on purpose, to put her at ease. He was dangerously clever like that.

"Mm," he murmured, noncommittally. "What's your decision, then?"

"Strange," Bela began, leaning into his touch. Making him wait for it. "Swooping in like this; the dashing hero," she said, the edge of sarcasm in her tone. "Saving me. Almost seems like you're doing a good deed." Her eyes widened in mock-scandal. "Whatever will the other demons say?"

Crowley took a deep, theatrical breath and shook his head as if Bela were endlessly amusing. "You aren't _saved_ , love. Quite the opposite." His hand slithered up her back, drawing her in as he continued. "And it's all about perspective. To be certain, you and I may benefit from this…"

"If I say yes."

" _When_ you say yes, hundreds upon hundreds will suffer. Thousands. Which, for you and I, means profit." He put a slight emphasis on that word, knowing how it would hook her, and he was _absolutely_ correct. "A very high return on such a small initial investment, don't you think?"

"What sort of profit?" asked Bela, tempted. Oh, she was so tempted.

His smirk was victorious. "What sort would you like?"

It was just as heady as the fear had been, really, this potentiality. Bela couldn't help laughing.

"Well, I suppose the relic business was getting dreadfully dull," she shrugged, casual and easy, relaxing into Crowley's arms.

"We have a deal?" His voice was little more than a hiss against her skin, the corner of his lips just skirting her neck.

She smiled. "I'll see what I can do."

" _Bela_ ," Crowley tsked, his thumb and forefinger resting against her chin, tilting her face up. "Do we have a deal?"

"Yes." She brushed her mouth against his. Not a kiss; not yet. "Deal."

"I was hoping you would see things my way," he grinned, and then, then his lips were on hers.

The kiss was a contract, near chaste and restrained, hot and impossible and a promise; and both of them were bound by it.

The next kiss, however, was not.


End file.
